post-4x08 "the first ones". after that utter wreck of a mission, Jack refuses to take up infirmary resources when so many of his men are worse off than some chewed-up wrists. Sam won't let him get away with his silent self-punishment. TW for minor injuries, self-loathing, mentions of minor character death
The white bandages around Carter's wrists keep peeking out from under the sleeves of her BDU jacket. Jack keeps frowning down at them while he watches her, carefully disassembling her weapons and cleaning the rest of her gear. He's working on his own P90 right now, but it's slower going, when every snap of his wrist burns his skin, makes his eyes water a little. He doesn't mind though. The pain he'll sit through while the zip tie burns heal won't be anything compared to the soldiers who lost their lives to Goa'uld and Unas and the fire of friendly semi-automatics. Fraiser and her team have their hands full enough already; he can suffer a little until his cuts scab over.
He's returning his gun to the armory rack when he becomes cognizant of the presence at his shoulder. "Sir. You haven't gotten checked out yet?"
He looks over his shoulder at Carter. Big mistake, her blue eyes are searching and a little worried, and something hurts in his chest. "I got checked out enough to know I'm not a Goa'uld. They're busy down there, I don't need to be in anyone's way."
"You need to get your injuries seen to," Sam retorts, one eyebrow lifting.
Jack pulls back his sleeve from his left wrist, the fabric rough against the irritated skin. It almost feels like he's looking at someone else's arm, despite the fact that he can feel the tightness when he moves his wrist, the sting that's settled under the skin.
"I'll be alright," he mutters absently.
"Not if those cuts get infected," Sam says, her eyes boring into his. "I mean, really, sir, we were crawling around in the dirt on what is likely the home planet of the Goa'uld. D'you really wanna risk it?"
Jack stares at the floor. She can be downright pushy sometimes. "I'll live, Major," he grunts.
Still frowning, Carter turns away, returning to her pack. Jack gets a moment of relief to think she'll finish what she's doing and leave him to his silent self-flagellation, but then she pulls her field first aid kit out, carrying it back over to him. She inclines her head toward the bench, pulling out gauze, medical tape, and some cleanser. "Sit down."
He does. "Since when do you give the orders?"
Sam doesn't answer, instead pouring the cleanser onto a pad of gauze. He hisses when she begins to dab at the dried blood and barely-healing scabs on his right wrist.
"Daniel is safe," she reminds him quietly.
Jack winces, his stomach knotting at how quickly she's caught on to the storm whirling around his head. "Yeah, well, how about Rothman? Hawkins? The rest of SG-11?"
"SG-11 was dead before we even got there, Sir."
"It was the Goa'uld homeworld." He closes his eyes. Whatever she's doing burns even more now that the wounds are open again. "We got too comfortable. Thinking they'd all moved on to become dictators across the galaxy. I should've been ready for some kinda bullshit to happen."
"And I'm the one who's supposed to be able to sense them," Carter replies, an edge to her voice. "Yeah, we didn't know exactly what we were walking into. We never do. We did what we had to do to get home alive... sir."
He opens his eyes again. Looks at her. By now, he recognizes the blank expression she wears when the other option is folding in on herself and succumbing to tears. Without conscious thought, he turns his hand as she dabs neosporin on his wrist, locking his fingers through hers.
Are you ever going to call me Jack?
But saying that out loud would definitely not be leaving it in the room.
"Hey," he says, his voice rougher than he realizes, "what's the point of me being in command if you're going to beat yourself up too, huh?"
Sam doesn't quite smile. He wonders if she gets lost in his eyes sometimes, like he always does in hers. "At least I let Janet bandage me up instead of running off and hiding." She gently pries his fingers away, delivering a soft pat to the back of his hand before she layers gauze over his skin. His stomach flips.
"Must not've hidden very well, since you found me."
She does the thing where her bottom lip pulls briefly between her teeth. Jack shoves his free hand into his pocket as the idea of brushing his thumb over that lip crosses his mind. "I think sometimes you think you need to be alone when it's maybe not the best idea after all."
"Well." The pain in his chest has turned into a familiar but terrifying warmth, always Carter-induced. "I mean, good ideas are generally your purview. Not mine." He's glad when she wraps the final bandage over his wrist and moves onto his other arm. The gentle precision she's using is doing something to him, to his brain-- he shouldn't be alone in a dark room with her much longer.
"I dunno," she offers, administering the stinging cleanser once again, "honestly, a better idea would probably have been to drag you down to the infirmary instead of doing this here."
"You're more than trained for this," he points out. "It's just band-aids, really." Her fingers along the inside of his arm make him jump more than the ointment on his cuts.
Carter hums. "Not what I meant."
He knows. "I'm glad it's you," he says, even though he shouldn't.
She won't look at him now. "Teal'c would've been rougher. Faster, though."
"Teal'c wouldn't talk, either," he says softly, knowing she knows he doesn't mean that as a good thing. "And he'd leave me here, too. To my own devices."
Sam sighs. "I'm heading back to my lab once we're done here. If you want to listen to me explain quantum physics while I try to distract myself from writing that damn mission report."
"Hey," Jack protests, "Hammond told us all to take the night off." He doesn't wait for her protests about physics being stress relief for her. "We should at least go see if there's blue Jell-o in the commissary."
Finally, a smile. She glances up at him before finishing the layer of gauze and grabbing the roll of bandages again. "Or pie."
"Or pie," he agrees. "I mean, come on, is there anything food doesn't fix?"
"Flesh wounds," Carter says pointedly, tearing the bandage and tucking it into itself.
His hand twitches as he stops himself from taking her hand again. "Well, that's what I have you for." He stands up, bumping his shoulder against hers as she packs away the first aid kit. "Hey, look at that. We match."
Sam brushes her fingers over the bandages, her own more visible since she'd pulled up her sleeves to work. She hums, her fingers moving from bandage to skin. Jack holds himself very still, waiting as her touch ghosts from his palm back up to his forearm. He's surprised when she lets her hand land there, squeezing his arm once. "That's better."
"It is." He lays his hand over hers. "Thank you."
She's staring at him, and his heart is trying to escape his chest, and he wants to close the distance and kiss her but he's just so tired. For the thousandth time, he reminds himself to be content just knowing that she knows. That she maybe even wants to kiss him herself right now.
"Come on." She takes his hand and leads him out of the armory, letting go once they're in the open hallway. "Jell-O time."
They're alive. Daniel's alive. And he still has her, in the ways that really matter.
He looks down at their matching bandages and finally starts to feel a little better.
Warnings: Unclear Major Character Death, Jack Whump, Hiccup Whump
TW: Blood, Violence
“Hiccup, it’s me! It’s me! It’s Jack! Don’t you see me?!” Jack pleaded desperately as he struggled to block one heavy blow after another. Each was more forceful than the last as it clashed against the length of his chipped and gnarled staff. Each sharp swipe dug deeper into the wood. Jack could feel his legs becoming weak with every step he took backwards, threatening to give out under him and send him to the ground. Jack could only catch glimpses of the man in front of him as he moved to block another sword swing. He was quick. Alot quicker than Jack remembered him being only a week ago when they had spared in the arena. This was different though- This wasn’t a training match. One wrong step could mean Inferno would be driven through his stomach. He’d be dead in a seconds-
A purple haze glowed from where a collar was wrapped tightly around Hiccup’s neck. Three vials of thick glowing purple venom stuck out of the black leather and fed their contents into Hiccup’s neck from underneath. The purple glow traveled up his freckled skin and to his eyes where it glowed just as bright. What were once the brilliant forest green eyes that Jack came to adore were now a sickeningly vibrant purple. They were unblinking with an unwavering and unsettling gaze. One that shook Jack to his core.
Blood spatters new and old dotted Hiccup’s face- Jack’s blood. Inferno had slashed him two- maybe three times now. Red littered the ground underfoot as he continued to back up, stumbling more and more before he was finally thrown back onto his back. His staff clattered to the side as he fell, bouncing a few feet away.
Jack wheezed as he quickly sat up, pain and the warmth of his blood sending a shiver up his spine. Hiccup was stepping towards him like a wolf that had cornered its prey. Stalking towards him with Inferno in hand. The blood dripped steadily with Jack’s blood and shone in the dim purple hue coming from its master’s neck. His movements weren’t his- they were too slow- too balanced, too calculated. With each step Hiccup took towards him, Jack was reminded that this wasn’t his Hiccup. This wasn’t the man he loved. This wasn’t the chief of Berk. Nor was it Stoick the Vast’s only child. This was Grimmel the Grisly’s puppet.
“Hiccup- Hiccup, please, can’t you hear me?!” Jack’s pleas once again were met with silence and that unnerving stare. Jack scrambled backwards as Hiccup continued to pursue him, twirling and twisting Inferno around his fingers with uncharacteristic ease. Jack’s back hit the wall of a hut too soon- and all too soon Hiccup was on him, standing over him- just staring down at him with those glowing eyes. “Snap out of it!! Hiccup! Please!! By the gods- listen to me!!” Jack begged him. “Don’t do this- please don’t do this- Hiccup, please-
Inferno glinted with that purple light as Hiccup raised his arm up to aim the final blow. Jack was going to die. Right now- He was going to break his promise to get Hiccup back- he wasn’t strong enough. He was going to die here and if they ever managed to free Hiccup from Grimmel then he wouldn’t be there. And everyone would know why. Hiccup would never forgive himself. He knew he wouldn’t.
Inferno’s blade came down on him with a whistle through the air. Jack grabbed hold of the hilt with both hands, his arms trembling as the blade came mere millimeters from his chest. “H-hiccup… l-love- please…” Jack croaked, his face wet with fresh hot tears. His heart was hammering against his ribs as the point of the blade pressed slightly against his ripped tunic. His grip was failing him. His fingers were slipping over the bloody hilt.
Jack glanced up at the man above him, into those purple eyes where he could see his reflection staring with horror back at him. Jack’s gaze then flicked down to the collar- With a quick surge forward, Jack let go of Inferno’s hilt and grabbed at the collar. A scream ripped from Jack’s throat as Inferno cut through him, embedding itself in his shoulder just under his collar bone. With a harsh yank the thin leather popped and ripped away and the vials of venom crashed to the ground and shattered into millions of little pieces.
Hiccup’s body shook as the collar fell away and he stumbled back, releasing Inferno only for it to hold position in Jack’s chest.
Jack watched him as his vision started to darken at the corners, his fingertips going cold as his warm blood pooled under him. He slumped to the side as he reached up and laid his fingers on Inferno’s blade, gripping it with what little strength he had.
“Jack…?” Hiccup’s voice trembled from somewhere ahead of him. He couldn’t pinpoint where it came from.
A shaky breath split the air. “JACK!!” Hiccup screamed, his voice making his ears start to ring. He heard some struggling and scuffling and suddenly there were two sets of hands on him. Valka and Astrid’s voices were above him- speaking quickly to one another. His eyes were getting heavy and he felt weightless- almost like he was riding on the wind again like had done so long ago. But back then he felt like he could soar as high as he wished… now- he only felt like he was falling. He was falling slowly down towards a dark sea. Jack’s eyes slowly fell closed.
“NO! Let me go!! I have to- Jack!! Jack! Please!!” Hiccup cried out, struggling against Snotlout and Fishlegs’ hold on him. He kicked and yanked at their grip, kicking where he could to maybe get them to loosen their grip. He watched as his mother and Astrid pulled Inferno from Jack’s chest and to his horror Jack didn’t even flinch. He was limp. His body was caked with red and his back soaked in blood. His skin was pale. Just as pale as when he’d met him when they were young- but this time it wasn’t just because of the cold.
He’d killed him. By the gods he’d killed him. He murdered Jack. Jack was gone. Hiccup was aware he was screaming. But he couldn’t understand what he was saying. Whether it was just screams or pleas, he didn’t know.
“Get him to Gothi- as fast as you can, Astrid. We’ll take care of Hiccup- Go” his mother’s voice said softly. The sound of Stormfly taking to the air came next. Hiccup’s body quaked and trembled, becoming heavy as his pleas dwindled down to rough sobs. He fell to his knees, his arms being held up by the two holding him.
He could hear his mother speaking to him. Her hands were on his face but he couldn’t find his voice. After all the screams and shrieks, it seemed his voice had disappeared.
She said Jack’s name and he clung to it as his eyes closed on their own. When was the last time he’d slept? He couldn’t remember- How long had he been like this? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know…
“Is Jack…?” Fishlegs’ voice whispered above him as they started to move. To where Hiccup didn’t know.
There was a silence before he heard Valka speak in a hushed tone. He strained to hear but he couldn’t catch it. The next thing he knew he was on a bed and darkness was taking him once again. Only this time it was only the sweet release of sleep that consumed him.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Stargate SG-1 RPF
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Characters: Jack O'Neill, Daniel Jackson (Stargate)
Additional Tags: Whumpcember, Whumpcember 2023, Jack Whump
Series: Part 12 of Whumpcember 2023
Summary:
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
He’d most likely missed Sam’s graduation.
Which kind of hurt worse than any of the bruises or cuts or broken bones.
He’d promised her he’d be there. No matter what. He’d wanted it to be true. Even if it meant he’d been a miserable excuse for a father for fifteen years, he’d wanted Sam to be his.
It was dangerous, for someone like him, to want anything at all.
I love this little found family so much I want to write all the things about them. And of course, being me, I started off with angst and pain...
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 9/10
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Jack Kline & Sam Winchester, Castiel & Jack Kline, Jack Kline &
Summary:
In the wake of Lucifer's death, with Dean missing, Sam falling apart, and Cas struggling to keep everyone together, Jack realizes there are a lot of things he doesn't know about the Winchesters and Cas. Things he should know. Things he's going to fight to learn. S14 AU/Fix-it. (gen, no smut)
Hi! I love your writing!! For the Whump Drabbles, could you do #56?
No pressure, have a fabulous day!!
@whumpflumpthump I just realized when I sent that last ask, I didn't give you a character😅 Sorry about that, I would love it if you did Mac, thanks, and sorry again
No. 56 Begging
Ahhhh! no problem fam, honestly, thank you so much for sending this in and sorry for your wait!! <3
warnings: broken bones, shitty self esteem, referenced torture but non graphic, jack’s potty mouth and atrocious southern accent.
Mac’s broken bones before. He’s not exceedingly clumsy, but whilst cuts and bruises are a warriors lost, broken bones and concussions seem to be a spies lot, especially ones that deal with explosions and under the table incidents that DXS do. Never mind the fact that he’d broken several fingers and ribs whilst back downrange, had barely been able to stoop when things had gone wrong so spectacular and Al had been less ...well, had been less Al and more parts of Al.
But human minds aren’t designed to remember pain, not really, even ones that are eidectic memory. The neurons remember it, but you forget what caused it, what made your heart stammer, what made your lungs seize, what made you want to jackknife up from your bed in the middle of the night, face wet with tears and blood beneath your nails because you’ve scratched your throat raw. You only remember it when it’s happening again, when you’ve felt that loss, that break.
Mac’s good at compartmentalization. Too well, often times. Jack doesn’t quite understand, not really though he tries, just how afraid Mac is, how afraid he is that if he even begins to open those tiny little boxes, meticulously labelled and stored away in the shelf of his mind, that he might not ever get them back closed. Everything he doesn’t, can’t deal with, handle. Everything he wishes would be wiped clear like the last equation of the white board by the eraser. But it isn’t that easy.
Maybe that’s why he can’t help it, why he leans so easily upon Jack, despite Jack no doubt hurting just as much as he does. Broken bones and concussions are a spies lot, but Mac thinks that kidnappings and hurt are a MacGyver and Dalton special, and wishes that it wasn’t. Wonder sometimes, in the back of his mind just how much Jack regrets meeting him. Wonders if Jack wishes he’d walked away at the end of his original tour and had left a stubborn bomb nerd in the sand of Afghanistan. Wonders how long he’d have lived; it’s a question he likes to ask himself, especially now, after missions, or when he and Jack are traipsing back to exfil after things have gone to shit.
Thinks he knows the answers, but always swallows the question and the answer, swallows the pennies he can taste too, doesn’t want to turn around and accidentally spit it out on Jack. Jack, whose already bloodied, bruised and aching. He’s got probable fractured ribs, but he can’t rest because he has to help haul Mac’s stupid, incapable ass out of the fire. He can’t keep doing this, not to his partner, not to Jack.
His left leg buckles, fire lancing up his shin to his thigh, spreading through his hip. his ankle twists further, and he only just manages to avoid bringing Jack down with him by twisting and ducking, knows that Jack’s ribs can’t take the strain and Jack’s reflexes would have him letting go. The ground is hard and cold, he can already feel the bruises forming over bruises, wonders if he’ll have the entirety of their kidnapping marked out on his skin like the world’s most fucked up map. Wonders if he’ll be able to read all the pit stops and roads, he’s where they first captured us, here’s where they fractured Jack’s ribs up after a failed escape attempt, here’s where they almost waterboarded me, here’s where they shattered my shin with a hammer because I called someone an asshole and Jack punched their lights out-
A frantic hand tucks beneath his armpit, tries to get him up, clamps down on his instinctive cries, blinks reflexively in place of the full body flinch he wants to give.
“C’mon man, we gotta hustle, I think they’re right behind,” Jack crouches as best he can, tries to get his shoulder jammed underneath Mac’s, tries to haul him up through sheer force of strength. A wheezing grunt escapes, pained. God, Mac is so selfish. “Get up, hoss, don’t do this to me, now.”
“You gotta go, Jack,” He says, looks Jack in the face, sees the wide, pain lined eyes, the grit of his teeth. He’s in so much pain, Jack is, exhausted to his very bones, beaten and bloodied. He doesn’t deserve this. “You, you need to leave.”
Jack pauses for a single moment, his arm around Mac’s waist tightens, leaves Mac breathless, dizzy, with breathlessness and pain. Jack loosens immediately, but that rare look of anger doesn’t. Seems to only grow deeper.
“What the fuck did you just say?” Jack far enough growls it, anger and pain, his eyes flash, he looks furious. Furious enough to hurt, to break, to punch. He does neither, only look at Mac like Mac’s said something so stupid, so out of far left field that it doesn’t even compute, as if Jack hasn’t had the same thoughts.
“Just go, Jack!” Mac hisses, insists, tries to shove himself backwards out of Jack’s grip, manages to break it, only to immediately miss it. He’s so fucking selfish. “Look, I’m just weighin’ you down, at this point, baggage, dead fuckin’ weight, you know this, man! You gotta go!”
“Now, I know that’s them blows to the heads talkin’, because I’m pretty sure I didn’t just hear my partner say to leave him the fuck behind!” It’s angry, angry and harsh and pained. An edge to it that has Mac’s back straightening, a shiver roiling down his spine, something pooling in his gut that he hasn’t paid attention to for the longest of times, because like Al used to say, it isn’t the bomb that’s going to kill you, it’s the emotions.
“Jack, please,” He tries to plead, can hear the shouts getting closer, the bark of angry shouting, he can’t let Jack be taken, not again, not when it was Mac that got them into this. “Please, just, go, already! They won’t be able to keep up with you. I can distract them-”
“Boy, are you stupid?” Jack hisses, and that seems to be the last straw. He grits his teeth, face turning red, hand shaking from where he’s tucked it up around Mac’s waist, hauling him up. Mac barely gets his feet beneath him, before Jack is fairly enough marching him forward, eyebrows knitted together, eyes flashing.
“Jack.” Mac hisses, pleads, begs. He’s got no chance but to go forward, pain sunfire hot, chemistry fire burning. He’s sick to his stomach, swallows down the bile. Every foot forward is agony, gut punch deep.
“No, Mac.” Jack grits out. He’s sweating, red faced. His ribs seem to creak with every movement, but he’s got Mac locked too tightly against him for Mac to do anything. They step wrong and Mac lets out a thin yelp. Jack doesn’t even flinch, only grabs the arm he forced Mac to throw around his shoulder further over, presses the swell of his thumb harder over the wrist pulse point. “No, Mac, I ain’t leavin’ you. You know why? Because you’re a fuckin’ stubborn ass of a kid who I still want to punch sometimes and you’ve got the shittiest set of emotions I’ve ever seen and I mean that, I’ve dealt with Deacon and that guy is a hot mess, but fuckin’ Christ, Mac, telling me to leave you behind?”
Something seems to have rattled loose inside of him, something hurt and vicious. Mac falls silent, keeps his hurt noises locked behind his teeth.
“We’re both gettin’ outta here, hoss, I don’t care what that stupid brain a’ yours is saying, and I swear to High Heaven that if you ever ask me to leave you behind, I will knock you on your skinny ass and drag you there, do you get me? ‘Baggage, dead weight’-” Jack scoffs, literally hauls Mac up over a mound of rocks; his anger seems to be the only thing keeping him going. “Biggest crock a’ shit I’ve ever heard, I’ll tell you what Mackie, if i ever meet that pops a’ yours I’m gonna be beltin’ him so hard I swear-”
“Jack,” Mac says, soft, gentle. Something swells up inside of him, warm, cosy, like he’s just slipped into a hot bath. Even the fiery hot pain of his broken leg seems to have been soothed. “Thank you.”
“Thank you, he says,” Jack’s words sound angry, but his tone is soft. His fingers tap something out in morse code against the shiver of Mac’s ribs. something that spells i love you. “Just never ask me to leave you behind kiddo, I can’t. You go kaboom, I go kaboom, got me?”
“You go kaboom, I go kaboom.” Mac echos softly, wondrously, hopefully.
